Frank and Joe
by Laura of Maychoria
Summary: It's been a long night, and Dad isn't home yet. Weechester.


**Fandom: ** Supernatural  
**Title: ** Frank and Joe  
**Author: ** Maychorian  
**Characters: ** Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester  
**Category: ** Gen, Weechester (Sam is ten, Dean fourteen)  
**Rating: ** K/G  
**Spoilers: ** A Very Supernatural Christmas  
**Summary: ** It's been a long night, and Dad isn't home yet.  
**Word Count: ** 1050  
**Disclaimer: ** Unfortunately, obsessive love does not equal possession. Nor does it equal money.  
**Author's Note:** Based on a piece of art by **oatmealqueen**, whom you should totally all adore for her beautiful artworks. (Visit my LJ for a link.)

**Frank and Joe**

"C'mon, Sammy. It's time to go to sleep."

Sam looked up at his big brother from his nest on the motel bed. There were still those little shadows under Dean's eyes, like he had gotten his fingers all dusty and accidentally left some smears on his face. "But I'm not sleepy. And I'm in the middle of a chapter." He tilted the book in his lap to show Dean the unbroken paragraphs, nowhere near a break yet. "Joe just got knocked out by a bad guy and Frank has to come and save him. I can't stop here!"

The wind whistled around the motel, shaking the room a bit, and Dean jerked his head up, staring out the window. Sam looked, too, but he didn't see anything. "Is something out there?"

"What? No!" Dean glared at him. "I told you not to worry about it."

"I'm not worrying. I'm just asking. And if there's nothing out there, why won't you let go of the shotgun? You've been carrying it around with you all night."

Dean glanced at the sawed-off in his hand. He'd been carrying it around by the stock, not holding it ready to shoot. But he'd been doing that ever since Dad went out yesterday morning. "I just like having it close, that's all. It's a good gun. I made it myself."

"You think there's something out there." Sam nodded with conviction. "Is that why Dad isn't back yet? Usually he leaves us somewhere far away from the thing he's hunting. But yesterday he left in a hurry and he was a lot more shouty than usual when he told you to make sure the salt lines weren't broken and all that stuff. Did you sleep at all last night?"

"What? Yes! Stop it! I told you not to worry."

Dean screwed up his face, the way he always did when Sam didn't do what he told him to do, angry and a little helpless. Once Sam decided on something, he didn't really listen to what Dean said anymore. Especially since he had read Dad's journal two years ago and he knew what was out there. Dad and Dean still didn't tell him much of anything, though. It was really annoying.

Sam huffed and hunched back over his book. "Okay, fine. I'm not worrying. I'm reading."

Dean muttered something and walked over to the window, making sure that the drapes were closed, that the salt lines were still thick, undisturbed by the small eddies of cold air under the window and door. He wandered over to the bathroom, walked between the beds and to each of the corners, stood by the TV tapping his fingers on the broken antenna for a few moments, and then marched back over to the door and checked the salt again. Sam rolled his eyes.

"I can't read when you're doing that, Dean," he said, knowing that he sounded like a whiny little kid and not caring. "How'm I gonna be able to finish the chapter and go to sleep when you keep bugging me?"

Dean stood there blinking at him for a little bit, his fingers tightening and relaxing around the shotgun. At last, he seemed to come to a decision, nodding firmly. "Okay, fine." He stalked over to the bed and shoved Sam sideways in his nest of blankets and pillows. "Scoot over, butthead. Make some room."

Sam wiggled over, clutching his book to his chest. Dean climbed up next to him on the bed, facing the door and the window, holding the shotgun in his lap. "I'll sit still, okay? Just finish your stupid chapter and go to sleep."

"Okay, I will." Sam turned his head to glare, but Dean was staring determinedly out at the darkness, not paying any attention.

Sam sighed and put his back to his big brother's, raising his knees to rest the book on his thighs. Dean's back was warm and rigid, strong, bigger than Sammy's. Sam knew he was safe. Dean would never let anything happen to him.

Just like Joe and Frank in the book. They were brothers, like him and Dean, and they went to all sorts of cool places and solved mysteries. A lot of times they got captured or hurt, but they always rescued each other, and the bad guys always lost and got taken to prison or didn't get the treasure they were after or whatever they were trying to do didn't work.

In this one, Joe had been knocked out and tied up, but as Sam continued reading, Joe woke up and wriggled free, and he knew that Frank was coming for him, so he snuck around to see if he could figure out what the bad guys were doing. At the end of the chapter, Frank ended up being the one in trouble, and Joe saved him. And then they went and got tacos.

Sam twisted around to get a tissue from the nightstand to use as a bookmark, and paused when he felt Dean's weight shift with the movement. He craned back to look over his own shoulder, and saw that Dean's head was bent over the gun, his knees curled up toward his chest. His back, still against Sam's, was relaxed. Dean was sleeping.

Sam looked back at the book in his lap, blinking. Dean always took care of him, protected him, made sure he was safe. But who took care of Dean, when Dad wasn't here? Who made sure he would be okay? Maybe that was Sam's job.

Frank and Joe always looked after each other. Even though Joe was the younger one, sometimes he saved Frank. They always worked together to solve the case. Frank was smart and Joe was handsome, but they always got along and the bad guys always lost.

Sam closed his book and stuffed it under his pillow, straightening his back so Dean could lean on him without falling. "It's okay, Dean," he murmured, trying not to wake him up. "I'll keep watch this time. You sleep."

He only had to turn his head a little bit to keep an eye on the door. He listened to the wind and watched for anything moving outside the drapes, and didn't feel a bit sleepy. He would keep watch until Dad got home.

(End)


End file.
